


and I am both from what you've shown

by dancebreaknervous



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Cabin Fic, Cricket and Clover, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Peterick is implied, Whatever the fuck, and they have favoritism, but like im just being realistic ryan wants brendons ass at all times, but not very obviously, its poly, no surprises there, patrick and pete get worried, sorry its short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancebreaknervous/pseuds/dancebreaknervous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> so feather fingers if i am truly</em>
</p><p>
  <em>made of one million glowing constellations</em>
</p><p>
  <em>then i think i owe it to you to</em>
</p><p>
  <em>try to be every hallucination</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you see in me </em>
</p><p>Him is a constant. Mine is a fleeting wonderland, and His is whatever he damn well pleases, so what am I?</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I am both from what you've shown

**Author's Note:**

> its short  
> i can write for other eras? maybe?  
> sorry done writing this fluff back to writing fucking depressing ass ed fic whatever

There was Him, His, and Mine.

Words scrawled out on a page meant nothing to me anymore. I resorted to writing on Mine, his arms and legs and back covered in poetry that smeared easily. The cabin constantly smelled like weed and fucking, which someone was constantly doing. Somewhere in the back of my head, I took notice the phone was ringing. I ripped it from the socket and threw it out the window, as hard as I could, watching it tumble and roll. His laughed. In His’ eyes, everything was funny. Him and His would always amaze me. That was the weed talking. The weed has better vocabulary than I do. 

Sometimes, when I'm between Mine’s legs, I'll wonder aloud why we’re here. He never answers. He doesn't need to.

His and Him are naked when Hero gets there. Hero and Legend are holding hands. Legend started to talk to Mine about his voice. Mine has the best voice. Sometimes he’ll sing to me for no reason. They aren't even words, they're loose syllables and gibberish and I love every second of it. Hero stares at the lyrics. Tries to talk to me. I want to throw him out the window too. They leave. Legend will not change that voice. 

His has to talk me down from from the roof. Mine looks like he's trying to cry, but the drugs had loosened in his face. I tell him I understand. Him holds me and we listen to Blink-182 until he's asleep and I'm laughing at myself. 

It's not working. I stuff the lyrics inside and burn my guitar. They hate me. I hate them. We all love each other. I love Mine more, and Him loves His more. It works.

I cry. We cry. His packs to leave, and Him yells. I hold Mine and cover his ears while he bats his wet eyelashes on my shirt. I don't remember my own name. I don't think they do either.

I pack to leave. I barely brought anything. I pack everyone's bags because I'm the only one who can do it without having a breakdown. That;s what happens though, seeing my notebook disappear into a bag. They comfort me as I throw things and throw my sanity across the room in the form of insults and whimpers.

At the airport, I cry again. My bag disappeared. There are so many people, too many, too much too soon and I can’t breathe, can’t think, and Mine whispers comforting phrases in my ear as we board the flight and I start to cry harder, palms pressing into my skull. It’s not that I have a fear of crashing. I have a fear of our destination.


End file.
